Sari

I realize I committed a most unforgiveable oversight in my last post about the Kiran festival; that is, I said nothing about the extraordinary transformation of the ladies in my life.

Along with all the other preparations for the festival one of the main topics of conversation among the female staff members was about the sari they were going to wear that evening, and so Petra often found herself being asked about what sari she would wear.  At first she wasn’t at all convinced; the idea of wrapping 5 meters of elegant silk cloth around herself and actually walking around in it without  it suddenly unraveling at some inopportune moment caused her enough unease that she thought it would be best to wear a fashionable rugby shirt and a pair of jeans. But when she found out that Sarah had already bought one and that she was going to be helped by Sybille, the Swiss director of the vocational training department with two years experience in how to wear a sari without it falling off, then she decided to get one herself. This was absolutely a last minute decision of course – she had to go back and forth to the city three times in the last four days before the festival to order the fabric and have the sari tailor-made for her.

The nice thing about all this is that I knew practically nothing about it. All I knew was that she had decided to buy one, but I never actually saw the sari and when it was time to put it on, she went over to Sarah’s guesthouse where there was the tailoring teacher to help the two of them get wrapped up. It was something like a second wedding day. There was an air of utter excitement and expectation concerning the show, the crowds of people already milling about, and the ladies off in some secret room getting themselves dressed in sumptuous silk. 

I was still at home making sure the children had their showers, got dressed properly  and were out the door. I finished ironing my perfectly ordinary trousers and short sleeved shirt, and when I finally walked out, looking as stunning as a peacock with no tail feathers, I couldn’t help but admire the beautifully dressed women conversing in the Kiran gardens. Then as I approached the crowds standing outside the hall I was surprised to see one westerner with her back to me dressed very elegantly in a gorgeous orange sari talking to Sanjay, the head of the IQ Toys department. He looked at me with a sly smile and a gleam in his eye as if he had managed to chat up the most beautiful woman in the place. I had to have a better look so I very discretely walked past and looked out the corner of my eye … lo and behold  it was Petra!

“May I introduce you to your new wife,” quipped Sanjay.

Indeed, I don’t believe I have seen her dressed up that elegantly since her wedding day.

And now the other transformation was Federica. When travelling in the countryside here I have often been surprised to see very young girls – just 2 or 3 years old – with black mascara round their eyes, which is usually smeary from play and sweat. The aesthetic of these petite faces with large dark eyes further accentuated by inky black, blotchy mascara never appealed to me.

And so when our neighbor, Sermila, who loves to brush and tie Federica’s hair whenever she can trap her in her arms, came to our house and began without a word – either in Hindi or Hinglish – to gently rub mascara from her finger round Federica’s eyes, I could only politely stand by and hope it would come off in the shower.

But by the time she had finished off her work with a spot of talcum powder on Federica’s cheeks, I found it to be such a sweet act of care and generosity that I made sure it lasted at least one evening without getting smeared.

Kikka with Alex and some friends at the festival

Paul